You're Late
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Happy Two Year Friendaversary to Rahleeyah! Patrick and Shelagh celebrate their wedding anniversary with a quiet evening at home without the children. Well, maybe not so quiet. And maybe not entirely as expected.


**You're Late**

Patrick had promised her that he would be home by seven. It was a bit later than they would have liked, to be sure, but women in labor did not keep to a schedule. Shelagh knew that better than anyone. But Patrick had called from the maternity home and told her that he was finishing up and he would be home by seven.

Shelagh herself had left in time to pick the children up from school and bring them home to pack their bags and then cart them all off to Granny Parker's for the weekend. Tim needed to spend time with his grandmother while he still could, and, bless her, she was so wonderful with Angela and little Teddy, too. Never mind that only Timothy was her proper grandson. Granny Parker was a supremely kind woman, very warm and welcoming when Shelagh had married Patrick and so supportive when they'd adopted Angela and then had Teddy. Shelagh had no family of her own and Patrick's parents were long gone; it was wonderful for the little ones to have a grandmother to dote on them.

As soon as she dropped everyone off—after taking Tim aside and making sure he knew to give Granny Parker a lot of help seeing to the wee ones—Shelagh had rushed back home. She wanted to spend this one night to themselves with Patrick, to celebrate their wedding anniversary just the two of them at home without children underfoot. They were very good about finding time for themselves amidst their work and their family, but even so, Shelagh wanted to spend some time alone with Patrick.

Patrick's delay set her timetable back, which allowed her to fix her hair just so. He liked it when she wore her hair down. It wasn't always practical when she was working, but he always complimented her on how pretty it was. Shelagh suspected that it had quite a lot to do with the fact that she wore a wimple when they fell in love. And seeing her hair, perhaps more than anything else, made that very stark difference between Sister Bernadette and Shelagh Turner. And they all certainly preferred the latter.

For about two hours, Shelagh worked to prepare the meal. She cooked all of Patrick's favorites, all the elaborate dishes she did not bother with except for special occasions. And everything was just finished cooking at seven o'clock on the dot. Shelagh let things cool just enough so she could set the table and put their plates together just right.

7:05. No Patrick. No car pulling up.

Hopefully he wouldn't be too long. She'd worked so hard on the meal, and she did not want it to go to waste. To keep herself busy, she decided to open the wine they were going to have with dinner. Let it breathe and open up, and it would be perfect by the time they sat down.

7:20. Still no Patrick. No lights through the front window to indicate cars driving up on the street.

Shelagh started pacing around the room, feeling quite restless and trying not to be angry. She needed to calm down. She needed something to distract her. It had been her hope that she and Patrick could have a champagne toast to their anniversary after dinner. The bottle was chilling in the icebox. But Patrick was late and Shelagh wanted something to settle her. And what could be more comforting than champagne? She went to retrieve the bottle and opened it with a loud POP! The sound made her giggle slightly to herself. She poured herself just one glass and wandered back to the sitting room. To keep herself occupied, she put on the Victrola to a jazz album Patrick had just bought. Shelagh had found she quite liked Ella Fitzgerald, so Patrick had picked up the newest record just last week for her.

7:30 and no Patrick yet.

She poured herself another glass of champagne. She started to dance, slow and swaying to the sound of Ella's voice. Those slower songs were so tender and beautiful. Oh, that voice of hers! Shelagh knew she was a good singer, but she was nothing like Ella Fitzgerald. The feeling in every single note she sang was so honest and deep. So different from everything Shelagh had sung as a child and as a nun and as a housewife leading a community choir. Ella swept her away. Shelagh hummed along and poured another glass, drinking and dancing and getting lost in the music.

7:55. No Patrick still.

By that point, Shelagh had forgotten about the dinner. She had nearly finished the bottle of champagne. Why had she been drinking champagne? She could not quite recall. It was also getting quite warm. From the drinking and the dancing, Shelagh's dress felt quite heavy. Well, she was home alone and there was nothing else going on. Without much thought, she unzipped the back of her own dress and pulled it over her head. That was much better. Though why did she have shoes? And stockings? No, that wouldn't do at all. She sat on the sofa—stumbling a bit as she nearly missed it—and kicked off her shoes and unclipped her stockings. She rolled each one down her leg and tossed them over the end of the sofa. And feeling much freer, wearing just her short slip and holding a champagne glass, Shelagh went back to dancing.

* * *

Patrick was absolutely knackered by the time he finally made it home. Twins. Both of them breach. How could they have missed that? And how was it that Sister Winifred, one of the least experienced of the midwives, was the only one on duty with him!?

The babies had both been delivered perfectly well. No need for the flying squad, even. And Nurse Dyer had been by at eight to relieve Sister Winifred and Patrick was finally able to go home. Oh Shelagh was going to be so upset, he could just tell. This was the only night they'd had without the children in…possibly ever, actually, since they'd had all three.

That thought made Patrick smile. He was the very proud father of three marvelous children. Tim was growing into a fine young man. Angela was the prettiest, sweetest little girl. And Teddy, as Shelagh liked to say, was a big, bonny boy. And Patrick adored them, each and every one. And he was still as madly in love with his wife as he'd been the day they got married.

They certainly were due for a proper anniversary celebration tonight. Hopefully Shelagh hadn't gone to too much trouble, since he was so late getting back. It was just gone 8:30 by the time he parked his car in the front of the house.

There was a faint sound of music coming from inside. How curious. Shelagh did not usually play records loud enough to be heard from outside. But even curiouser was the sight that greeted him when he walked inside.

"Shelagh, I'm sorry I'm…" He trailed off. His jaw dropped, and all intelligent thought left him.

His wife was standing in the middle of the living room wearing nothing but her slip and underthings. Her legs, long and lean for a woman of her small stature, were bare. God, her legs were bare! Her arms were bare and the soft, creamy skin of her chest was on full display in the low-cut slip she wore. Her face was pink, and her beautiful eyes were a bit unfocused. And best of all, her shiny blonde hair was hanging down around her shoulders.

"You're late!"

The sound of her voice snapped him back into some kind of focus. It did not escape his notice that her words were slightly muddled. "I'm sorry, dear," he replied, trying to figure out what on earth was going on.

"I…I…what did I do?" she pondered aloud. Shelagh looked around the room to find a clue. "Oh! I made dinner! And I drank champagne!"

Patrick had to laugh. "And how much did you drink?"

"I think the whole bottle. You're really very late, Patrick," she scolded, slurring all the way through.

He crossed towards her, amused and delighted by this turn of events. "Shelagh, I think you're drunk."

"I might be," she agreed. "But I don't care. The children are out. Ella Fitzgerald is so lovely. And it's our anniversary!"

"Yes, it is," he said, smiling down at her. He placed his hands on her arms, hoping to keep her steady and entirely unable to resist touching her. God, she was so beautiful! "Shelagh, where are your clothes?" he asked.

"Over there," she replied, gesturing to the sofa. Sure enough, her dress and stockings and shoes were in a pile there.

"I think I like you a little disheveled like this," Patrick murmured.

Shelagh looked up at him and suddenly there was a sharpness in her eyes, indicating that she was in far more control of her faculties than Patrick had thought. "I wanted to wait for you," she said softly.

His hands trailed down her bare arms, feeling the way her skin shivered at his touch. "I'm here now," he told her.

Shelagh smiled. "And no children to interrupt us or to require us to stay quiet. We have all night just to ourselves."

The mere suggestion of their privacy sent Patrick's whole being into overdrive. He pulled Shelagh into his arms and kissed her hungrily. She moaned into his mouth and clung to the back of his neck to hold him against her. The taste of her tongue was an exquisite drug that enflamed his whole body.

As Patrick's ardent kisses moved down her neck, Shelagh tangled her fingers in his hair. She had a tendency to do that, he'd noticed. Her hands were small and elegant but strong. More often than not, they tugged at his hair when they engaged in passionate embraces like this.

Patrick tore himself away from here. They were both breathing heavily. "Upstairs?" he suggested.

Shelagh had no words. She just nodded. And that was all the encouragement he needed. He scooped her up in his arms, eliciting a little yelp from her. He'd never done this with her bare within his grip before. She clung to him, laughing somewhat drunkenly. But good god did he love the sound of her laugh. Patrick carried her up the stairs and straight into their bedroom, letting her fall to the bed, making them both laugh even more. Her slip rode up to her waist, and Patrick did not waste any time pulling it up over her head.

He marveled at her exquisite body. Sometimes it struck him just how small and young and perfect his wife really was. Even after a baby just a year earlier, her belly had regained its flat, perfectly toned quality. How a nurse could manage such things, he would never know. But then again, he'd learned over the years to just accept that Shelagh was a pure marvel.

Well, not too pure. At that exact moment, she was undoing her own bra and peeling her knickers off herself so she was splayed out on the bed completely naked. She scooted herself to the middle of the bed, putting her glasses on the bedside table and running her hands through her hair. Patrick felt himself got a bit mad with want for her. He tore his clothes off himself as she watched with dark eyes and a hungry grin.

Before they knew it, Patrick was as bare as she and dove onto the bed. He hovered over her and gave her a searing kiss. "I want you so much," he growled, kissing her again, hard. They were both breathing heavily and he made his way down her body. "I love every single thing about you, Shelagh," he murmured, switching to gentle, soft kisses down her chest and over her breasts. She was quite sensitive there, from breastfeeding the baby, so he did not linger in his attentions for too long. "And marrying you was the best thing that I've ever done in my whole life," Patrick whispered against her stomach. "I only want to bring you pleasure. I only want to love you."

Shelagh whimpered to feel his hot breath against the dark curls between her legs. Her body shivered as the wetness pooled there, begging for his touch. "Please, Patrick," she breathed.

His lips were gentle, slow, and deliberate. Every single swipe of his tongue over her folds created a gradual buildup that was sweet and beautiful in every way. But Patrick could barely keep himself controlled, gripping at her thighs as he tried to restrain his own desires to bring his wife the pleasure she deserved. After all, he was late coming home for their anniversary.

She was right on the edge when she stopped him, giving his hair a little pull. He lifted his head to look up at her in question. His mouth was shining from being coated in her wetness. "Please," she said. "Together."

Patrick nodded, resettling himself over her. Shelagh's legs were spread wide open to cradle his body as he crawled back on top of her. He lined himself up at her entrance, barely nudging himself shallowly inside her. But that wasn't what Shelagh wanted. She wanted him. All of him. Now.

Using more strength than she'd ever shown in bed before, Shelagh sat up and grabbed her husband's hip, pulling him inside her sharply. She gasped and fell back onto the bed when he was fully sheathed inside her. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and dug her heel into the small of his back as she canted her hips to adjust and pull him deeper. She could barely breathe, she felt so good. "Patrick," she whined.

He started to move inside her. Slowly, still. But deep and powerful. Patrick was starting to sweat from the effort. He was so aroused by everything about her, and she felt so good, fluttering around his length. He couldn't hold back much longer. He had his eyes shut tight, trying to keep in control. When he opened his eyes, he saw his Shelagh gazing up at him with her lovely eyes dark with lust, shining bright with passion.

"I love you," she breathed with that Scottish brogue that he adored. And within a few strokes, she came undone around him, moaning and gasping his name, her eyes still fixated on his.

He came while she was still clenching and pulsing around him, practically roaring her name with the force of his orgasm. Patrick let himself gently collapse on top of her. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the warm embrace of her body just yet.

Shelagh's fingers tangled in his hair once again as she continued to keep her legs wrapped around his body.

Patrick stirred and pulled out of her, rolling over onto his back. He pulled her against him in a tight embrace. "I love you, Shelagh. I love you more than words."

She kissed his bare chest and hummed in agreement. "Happy anniversary, dear." They were quiet, then, regaining their heartrates as the soft strains of Ella Fitzgerald wafted up the stairs.

Then, ruining the romantic moment somewhat, Patrick's stomach gave a mighty rumble. The pair of them burst into giggles.

"Perhaps I should see how much of the meal can be salvaged," Shelagh suggested.

But Patrick would not let her get up just yet. He held her tight. "In a minute. And I'll happily eat it cold. Though you should probably eat something, too. I don't want you waking up hungover."

She moaned, remembering that she'd drunk a whole bottle of champagne. She was a little thing, she should know better! Though perhaps Patrick should take better care not to be so late coming home. All things considered, however, it seemed to have worked out for them quite nicely tonight.


End file.
